Amidst all the games that actually involve some elements of skill there sits one carnival game that doesn't bother to hide the fact that it's entirely based on luck. If you leave the ring toss both behind you, ignore the heavy milk bottles and the fake shooting range you'll soon come upon a game titled nothing other than "Lucky Duck." The booth proffers up a small contingent of rubber ducks, all with smiling beaks and joyful eyes. They are perpetually happy to wade in circle around and around. The game is simple, pick a duck and look at it's bottom side. There a number will be written, ranging from zero to five. Each number corresponds to a different group of prizes.
A zero earns you nothing, don't even bother trying if you're cursed with bad luck, you'll never get anything but. A one will earn you something small, useless, a pity prize. A two is mildly better, a three is where the things you might actually want live. A three will also earn you this option, give up your prize and try again for a four or a five. Fours are the best you can hope for really, the big toys, or some small useful trinket perhaps with a one time magic use. There's only ever one five, and the corresponding prize, well, it's a mystery, but it's guaranteed to be something amazing.
For as simple a game as it is, it's the one that's always intrigued the Ψiioniic the most. He is determined to get mystery duck number five sometime before he leaves the carnival. If he's only tried once a night the entire time he's been here he's still tried too many times. He's been here for nearly three years now, and he has the changes to show for it. His eyes number four instead of the usual two. His skin is speckled with glowing purple spots and short antennae can be seen sprouting from his hair in between his horns. He studies the ducks intensely, the purple spots on his skin dimming and glowing brightly again in a slow and steady pattern as he thinks. He's waiting, for just the right moment to strike. Tonight he'll get it for sure, the mysterious number five.
You Lunky Druck Willfull Wisps
He's trying his very best to catch these damn things without touching them. He glows a dim shade of purple as he flits around the carnival looking for the small beasts, but he soon discovers finding them isn't really the problem. The appear and vanish in a flash of light, it's not hard to spot the little buggers when they take form. It's actually catching the damn things that's proving difficult. The Ψiioniic isn't called such because of his lack of ability, but holding onto these things telekinetically feels like trying to hold smoke with your bare hands. It's a study in patience and the Ψiioniic has never been a very patient troll.
He swears loudly as another wisp breaks free from his grasp and flits off. His freckles glow a dangerous shade of red. He's not usually one to get angry, but tonight hunting down these wisps, he's definitely starting to loose his temper. It doesn't help of course that simply being near the damn things is disorienting as fuck. It makes him even more unfocused, which means he does an even worse job the next time he tries to catch one. Eventually the flash of his psionics begins to desynchronize, shifting from violet in color to alternating flashes of red and blue. That just pissess him off even more. He cusses again, this time in his own troll language instead of the fae speech he's grown accustomed too. He probably sounds like a very angry cicada and a cricket having a fight to the death. Dare ye approach?
Break(?) Time C A T A R O T
[The strange looking troll approaches, a very fluffy very grumpy looking dilute calico perched on his shoulders.]
You know, my cat can see the future.
[Respond? Y/N]
Riddle Me This (Batman)! Locked Chests
Of course a lot of people are intrigued by and examining the chests, hoping to find one with a riddle they can actually solve. The Ψiioniic is going about his selection process in a bit of a different manner. He's crouched down, wandering from chest to chest with his cat held out in front of him. Carefully he pushes her forwards to sniff and examine the containers, waiting to see how she'll respond before even reading the riddle.
The Psiioniic :: Homestuck :: Veteran (Supervisor)
Game Corner
Amidst all the games that actually involve some elements of skill there sits one carnival game that doesn't bother to hide the fact that it's entirely based on luck. If you leave the ring toss both behind you, ignore the heavy milk bottles and the fake shooting range you'll soon come upon a game titled nothing other than "Lucky Duck." The booth proffers up a small contingent of rubber ducks, all with smiling beaks and joyful eyes. They are perpetually happy to wade in circle around and around. The game is simple, pick a duck and look at it's bottom side. There a number will be written, ranging from zero to five. Each number corresponds to a different group of prizes.
A zero earns you nothing, don't even bother trying if you're cursed with bad luck, you'll never get anything but. A one will earn you something small, useless, a pity prize. A two is mildly better, a three is where the things you might actually want live. A three will also earn you this option, give up your prize and try again for a four or a five. Fours are the best you can hope for really, the big toys, or some small useful trinket perhaps with a one time magic use. There's only ever one five, and the corresponding prize, well, it's a mystery, but it's guaranteed to be something amazing.
For as simple a game as it is, it's the one that's always intrigued the Ψiioniic the most. He is determined to get mystery duck number five sometime before he leaves the carnival. If he's only tried once a night the entire time he's been here he's still tried too many times. He's been here for nearly three years now, and he has the changes to show for it. His eyes number four instead of the usual two. His skin is speckled with glowing purple spots and short antennae can be seen sprouting from his hair in between his horns. He studies the ducks intensely, the purple spots on his skin dimming and glowing brightly again in a slow and steady pattern as he thinks. He's waiting, for just the right moment to strike. Tonight he'll get it for sure, the mysterious number five.
You Lunky Druck
Willfull Wisps
He's trying his very best to catch these damn things without touching them. He glows a dim shade of purple as he flits around the carnival looking for the small beasts, but he soon discovers finding them isn't really the problem. The appear and vanish in a flash of light, it's not hard to spot the little buggers when they take form. It's actually catching the damn things that's proving difficult. The Ψiioniic isn't called such because of his lack of ability, but holding onto these things telekinetically feels like trying to hold smoke with your bare hands. It's a study in patience and the Ψiioniic has never been a very patient troll.
He swears loudly as another wisp breaks free from his grasp and flits off. His freckles glow a dangerous shade of red. He's not usually one to get angry, but tonight hunting down these wisps, he's definitely starting to loose his temper. It doesn't help of course that simply being near the damn things is disorienting as fuck. It makes him even more unfocused, which means he does an even worse job the next time he tries to catch one. Eventually the flash of his psionics begins to desynchronize, shifting from violet in color to alternating flashes of red and blue. That just pissess him off even more. He cusses again, this time in his own troll language instead of the fae speech he's grown accustomed too. He probably sounds like a very angry cicada and a cricket having a fight to the death. Dare ye approach?
Break(?) Time
C A T A R O T
[The strange looking troll approaches, a very fluffy very grumpy looking dilute calico perched on his shoulders.]
You know, my cat can see the future.
[Respond? Y/N]
Riddle Me This (Batman)!
Locked Chests
Of course a lot of people are intrigued by and examining the chests, hoping to find one with a riddle they can actually solve. The Ψiioniic is going about his selection process in a bit of a different manner. He's crouched down, wandering from chest to chest with his cat held out in front of him. Carefully he pushes her forwards to sniff and examine the containers, waiting to see how she'll respond before even reading the riddle.
"Come on Dee. Which one's got the big money?"